


Farsi and Furious

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, REALLY ANNOYED BY THE SAMANTHA GROVES ADD ON, mother-finch fiction, why do you do this to me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:20:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: I just saw fast and furious 7 tonight and now I just desperately want a root/shaw street racing au. Shaw takes racing very seriously and root is a techie who comes out of nowhere and keeps beating her with tricked out cars. Then Shaws car breaks down</p>
            </blockquote>





	Farsi and Furious

Sameen Shaw, hands gripping the steering wheel and gas pedal pushed to the floor, watches with predatory eyes as a woman in high heels and a low riding skirt struts her way over the starting line, two blood-red flags in tow. Anticipation seeps through her skin, the thrill of it a better high than cocaine as her clutch foot gets finicky. _C'mon, c'mon, let's go._

Through windows darker than night, Shaw tosses her glance swiftly to the car set up at her side. _Grice_. It's written in crisp, slanted black letters across the side of his lime green Porsche 911. She can see his sharp jawline and impecable haircut, and a smile pulls its way onto Shaw's features- _he doesn't stand a chance._

 _His rig is nice and all_ , Shaw thinks to herself, humor tying her words with a haughty bow. _But it's not what I've got._ And what does she have? A Mitsubishi- Lancer Evolution to be exact. But, with a mixture of her mechanic handiwork, measly paycheck, and some magic, she'd made it more than the average six speed Evo. Finding it beaten and battered nearly ten years ago, Shaw'd threw her very being into making the car not only run better, but also making it lighter, sleeker, and- unquestionably- faster. Race after race after race proved that she was a force to be reckoned with. Every street racer in Manhattan knew her car. The smart ones envied her; the idiots and the cocky believed they could beat her. And, sitting in the driver's seat of her manual masterpiece, she contemplates which he could be.

The flags drop.

* * *

 

Without a second's gap to react, Shaw lifts her foot from the clutch, launching herself over the starting line. The sound of her turbocharged engine and 291 horse power screaming to be put into appliance engulfs her from all angles, fueling her to surge forward.

_Off gas._

_Clutch._

_Shift._

_Off clutch._

_Go._

From zero to sixty in 4.1, Shaw's muscles tighten with the strain of keeping in control. Each little tap of the steering wheel has the potential to throw her racer into the adjacent lane; tearing her eyes from the road for more than a second is the difference between winning and losing. _I will not lose._

_Off gas._

_Clutch._

_Shift._

_Off clutch._

_Go._

Taking a quick peek into the rearview mirror, Shaw finds Grice precariously close to the tail end of her car, and shakes her head with a condescending grin. _I don't think so._ Throwing it into third, then fourth and fifth after, she watches the gap between them increase, and relishes the sight. Her breath comes fast, heart surging like the pistons under the hood, and she cranks it to the last gear all for good fun. All for the rush.

The final man marking the end of the race rapidly grows in Shaw's vision. In one second he is an ant, in the next, she is flying past him so quickly that the baseball cap snaps off his balding head. And, as he stretches an arm out to grab for it, he nearly becomes roadkill for Grice.

Slowing down to an idle, Shaw sits back in her seat, head resting against the headrest as she breathes. Out of all the daring things she'd ever done in her life- from sticking her hands directly into the moving parts of engines to locking her brakes on ice coated roads- racing is the only true thrill. She watches as bystanders begin to flood towards the cars, their tank tops and shorts all clashing together in a sea of cloth and sunburn. Rolling her neck, Shaw unlocks her door, stepping out with a confident air bolstering her up nearly a foot higher than her five-three frame. As usual, at the sight of Shaw's almost microscopic smirk and sweat matted ponytail, the small crowd erupts in hoots and hollers. _Nothing better than being a fan favorite._

Shutting her door, Shaw walks around the front of her car, meeting a stoney-eyed Grice as he leans, sullen, against his Porsche.

"At least it wasn't for pink slips," Shaw tells him, shoving her hands in her front pockets, not even attempting to mask the sinister laugh in her eyes. Grice scowls, digging for his wallet before pulling out a hefty three hundred.

"They said you were pretty good," he tells her, voice a depreciating grumble. As if she needed to hear it to know.

"Double or nothing?" Shaw offers, winning a chuckle from the man.

"No, thanks."

" _Baby_ ," Shaw goads with a smirk, swiping the cash and walking back to her car. At this rate, she'd have enough saved up for a new ride in no time. She thinks to her next big dream: the Hellcat. With 707 horsepower and a 6.2 liter V-8, it's the fastest and absolutely the most furious of its kind. The mere idea of getting from zero to sixty in under four seconds sends a thrill snaking down Shaw's spine.

Pulling her door open, Shaw rummages in the center console, retrieving a TootsieRoll Pop from the clutter of pretzel packs and pudding cups. Sitting down and placing the candy in her mouth, Shaw reaches into the backseat, scooping up a tin box with a broken lock on the front. She stuffs the cash in; however, just as she goes to return it, a rapping on the hood of her car makes Shaw stop. A woman in a nice suit steps around the open door, looming with an authoritative, menacing shadow over Shaw.

Shaw doesn't even blink.

"Control," Shaw greets tersely, swinging her legs outside the vehicle. Control gives a tight-lipped smile in return.

"We've got another driver at the starting line; says they want a go with you." Shaw barks out a cruel laugh, sitting back in her car’s seat; easing her feet back under the dash.

"I'm done for the day," Shaw responds flatly, going to close her door. Control forces it back.

"Newbie wants to go, and the crowd is here for a good time," Control responds with clenched teeth. Shaw, taking the candy from her mouth, rolls her tongue over her teeth with distaste.

"Last time I checked, you're not my boss," Shaw shoots back cooly. Past the circular sunglasses Control sports, Shaw can feel her gaze burning directly into the spot between Shaw's eyes.

"There's a thousand dollar bet on the table," Control says at last, and Shaw's interest becomes piqued. She rolls the idea of an easy thousand around in her head, and a glint sparks in her dark, onyx eyes.

"Something's telling me you aren't doing this out of the goodness of your heart," Shaw replies slowly, calculating her options.

"And why not?" Control asks, stringing a false, baffled layer into her oil-slick voice. Shaw shakes her head, smirk deepening.

"Because you don't have a heart to begin with." With anyone else, they would have frowned. However, as Control is not anyone else, a Cheshire Cat Grin drags across her face from ear to ear.

"The outsider bets on this one are split fifty-fifty. And only if you win." Shaw stops to think it over. It's a lot to ask for, the usual being a 70-30 in Shaw's favor; yet- with the promise of a thousand dollars already burning a hole in her pocket, she accepts. Closing her door, Shaw makes a sharp U-turn, tires leaving long, dark smudges on the uneven backroad as she soars back to the starting line. As she approaches, Shaw does a quick evaluation of the competition- _if you could even call it competition._

A small, baby blue Volkswagen Golf awaits her, the body looking ready to rattle off with maltreatment. _What?_ Shaw wonders, mind a mix of laughter and genuine disbelief, _did the poor sap drive this straight out of the junk yard?_ Turning around and pulling up beside the clunker, Shaw gets herself into fighting position. Fingers coiled around the steering wheel, engine roaring like a starved beast, waiting for the prize only a quarter mile away. The woman lifts the flags- holds them. All thought leaves Shaw's mind as she waits, nerves catching fire and breath bated as she waits for-

_Now._

Springing forward, Shaw throws all she's got into the race, all too eager to show this rookie that you don't just show up in any car and expect to win-

Shaw, in checking her rearview mirror, finds her heart leaping, as empty road fills the space. At the same time, her eyes catch baby blue creeping its way into her passenger side window. _Oh, no way in Hell._

Shifting again, Shaw pulls ahead, but only by a hair and only for a moment. The lemon of a car to her right climbs with consistent speed past Shaw, until Shaw's front tire is even with baby blue's back door handle. A surge of irritation sweeps Shaw and she grips the wheel tighter, willing it with all her might to pick up speed. It's too late.

They both dart past the man in the baseball cap; his jaw is unhinged, eyes popped open wide. In fact, every spectator's eyes are rimmed with visible whites, silence taking over the shoulder and grass adjacent to the road. After a silent minute, only one gravelly voice rises up.

"I _knew_ it!" It shrieks giddily. "Pay up, ya _bastards_!"

Shaw, coming to a stop, allows her engine to die, a hole slowly eating its way through her stomach. This. Sucks. Tearing open her door, Shaw instantly rounds her car, heading towards the VW Golf, determined to see the face of the man that just cost her the second loss of her entire carrier.

Then, a woman steps out of the baby blue clunker.

__________\ If Your Number's Up /_________

"What the _Hell_ was that?" Control demands, livid. Her eyes shoot daggers into Shaw's skin, but she barely perceives it, mind on autopilot.

All she can think of is the woman who stepped out of the car. With her dark curls spilling over her shoulders and caramel eyes, Shaw couldn't help but to take a second look at this newcomer. Look at her toothy grin and confident swagger as she flipped her hair over her shoulder, appearing more than thrilled at the encounter.

 _'The middle ages called,' the woman told Shaw with a voice like honey and a cunning smirk that even the Devil himself would long to master. 'They want_ this _back,' she continued, resting her hand on the hood of Shaw's car with a soft thud. As stunned as Shaw was, she wasn't stunned enough to leave her car open to abuse._

 _'Says the one whose front fender nearly_ disintegrated _on the ride,' Shaw snapped back, unsure if she was angry or amused- perhaps both. The woman gave a small chuckle at that._

 _'Oh,_ Sweetie _,' she'd responded in playful condescension. 'Don't pretend like you had a view of my front fender during that race.' With that, she took a step into Shaw, coming so close that Shaw could feel the air being snatched from her lungs just as easily as the win was snatched from her moments ago. 'If you ever want help fixing up your car-' she gave Shaw a quick one over '-you let me know.' With that, she slipped the money from Shaw's hand and left._

Even now, with Control breathing fire down her neck, Shaw can't help but to focus all her attention on this mysterious woman.

"Shaw, are you even listening?" Control snarls, and Shaw finally turns her head to face the woman.

"No." Control huffs out an irritated sigh, looking past Shaw with Hell's wrath in her eyes. Shaw, down a significant amount in her Hellcat fund and in need of a good burger, hunkers down into her car, starting the engine and locking the doors.

"You wait one second," Control commands, although Shaw is already getting into first. "What are you going to do about this mess you've created?" Shaw, peering out the window at Control, shrugs.

"I'll clean it up," she replies, beginning to drive off.

" _Yeah?_ " Control calls after her, exasperated. "And how do you plan on doing that?" Shaw, allowing herself a cunning grin, rolls down her window.

"I'll figure it out at the next race," she responds, then guns it down the empty road.

________\ We'll Find You /________

The next race just so happened to be on the same Thursday of that week. With a new venue picked out for the occasion, Control had used her powers to pull the right strings and create one of the larger street races of the year. Not a mere drag race down a service road more ragged than the Alpines, this race would be an elaborate scheme of side streets, dying highways, and dirt trails, all snaking back to the starting line. It had been ages since a true track had been in place, leaving Shaw itching to get out there and push her Evo to its limits. And so, clocking out of the mechanic's shop an hour early, Shaw trekked down to their latest and greatest location, nerves humming with life.

With the sun dipping down below the horizon, Shaw approaches a large, barren field caught fire from the red sun. Cars gleam like early stars and their owners are eclipsed in the glow, becoming dark demons ready to wreak havoc on the night. She can't wait to join them.

Pulling up and killing her engine, Shaw steps from her car, stuffing her hands into her front pockets as a burst of chilly spring air splashes across her face. Peering around, Shaw picks out the usual crowd, plus a few others sporting out of state plates. _Leave it to Control_ , Shaw thinks to herself, walking deeper into the throng of drivers and onlookers. Feet crunching on dead grass, her eyes scan for a familiar face; the one friend she'd accumulated over the years. Known by everyone else as the Man in the Suit. Known by her as John Reese.

"You come to redeem yourself?" A deep, gravelly voice asks from behind, and Shaw wheels around to find a man whose salt and pepper hair almost touches the sky, ice-blue eyes dancing in the vanishing light. Shaw, small smirk pulling up on her features, does a one over on the man, taking in his dark grey suit and shimmering black shoes.

"Nothing to redeem," Shaw responds coolly, eyes reaching back up to his. "So, lover boy buy you another new suit?" She goads, coy flame flickering in her eyes as Reese's lips fall to a thin, flat line.

"My _boss_ ," he corrects- perhaps for the umpteenth time since their meeting- "decided that the grease stains on my old one were too noticeable." Shaw gives a soft chuckle, and Reese's tight tone relinquishes. "Hey," he tells her in a warm manner. "You should ask him for a job."

"And why's _that_?" She asks, skeptical.

"Nice cars, nice suits, and a nice paycheck just to take the cars he fixes up to races and car shows." Shaw folds her arms in thought, watching Reese watch her intently. At last, she shakes her head.

"I'm more of the freelance type," she answers. "Besides," she adds with a spark of humor, "you wouldn't catch me _dead_ in one of your losing junk heaps." At the mock-appalled grimace on Reese's face, Shaw can't help but to grin.

"I only lose to _you_ ," he points out, short smile peeking out from the corners of his mouth. "And, what's that you always tell me about no bad cars, just bad drivers?"

"Maybe I was trying to spare your fragile feelings for a change."

Reese, rolling his eyes, looks past Shaw, and a curious countenance takes over his features. Shaw, studying him, can't decipher what's caused him to freeze, and- wanting to know herself- turns.

And there, walking against the last sliver of a blood-red sunset is a high-heeled, wavy-haired someone. The mere thought of whom sends a tingle running down Shaw's spine. _She's back._

Making friends with the enemy, Shaw?" Reese asks from her side, but she doesn't respond. She watches as the silhouette of the woman approaches them, features slowly creeping from the shadows. A black leather jacket, black nail polish- those electric eyes. _She's back._

"Hey, Sweetie," the mystery woman coos, stopping just before them. "Miss me?" Shaw, taken aback by the addressing, instantly reverts a razor sharp defense.

" _Miss_ you?" She mocks, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I missed you like I miss an _intestinal parasite._ " To Shaw's surprise- and somewhat enjoyment- the woman smiles. Then, she shifts her gaze to John, smile dropping the slightest bit.

"Who's your friend?" She asks, not unkindly, as her eyes study Reese. Shaw, finding amusement in the defensive resolve in Reese's eyes at this newcomer, relishes the moment.

"Go Man in the Suit around here," Reese responds, and the woman smirks.

"Not even polite enough to be introduced with your own name?" She asks him with condescension dripping from each syllable. She shakes her head. "Well, as far as trust goes," she continues, flashing her brilliant eyes Shaw's way, "I'm willing to take the first step. My name is Root."

John gives a short puff of irritated air at that. " _Root?_ " He asks. " _Root_ is your real name?" He questions her coolly, and Shaw watches Root's mood shift from carefree to aggravation, eyes narrowing at him and smile dropping into nonexistence.

"Yes," she responds tersely, lifting her chin with a finalizing air. Looking to Shaw, her eyes soften. "You," she says, eyes pinning Shaw to the spot as the cunning flow of her tone ties itself around her. " _You_ need to come with _me_." Shaw and Reese share a look; she doesn't budge an inch.

Sighing, Root drops her shoulders. Reaching forward, Root grabs one of Shaw's wrists, unravelling her folded arms as Root begins to tug her off. "Come on," Root insists. "It'll be fun." The motion was so abrupt that it takes Shaw a minute of being carted along before she finally regains her senses. Tearing her arm back viciously, Shaw recoils with a menacing sneer, eyes narrowing as she bristles like a cat, back arched. Root, turning in a slow circle to face Shaw, tilts her head to the side, chocolate hair spilling over her shoulders.

"Sweetie, now's not the ti-"

"Don't call me ' _Sweetie_ '," Shaw growls. Root, licking her lips, raises a brow.

"I don't have any _other_ name to go on," Root responds slyly, self-humored smile fighting to show on her features. "But, I suppose I could call you Honey, if it makes you feel better." Shaw thinks, deciding whether or not to reveal her real name, or the one used on the road: Control's own concoction of Indigo Five Alpha. Indigo for the dark, purpling color of her paint job, five for the number in which Control recruited her into her own elite lineup, and Alpha for the A-team. Yet, as she looks at Root, she has this unmistakable, indescribable, sense to tell Root the truth.

"Sameen Shaw. You can call me Shaw."

"Well, Sam, I have something to show you before the races start." With that, Root begins walking once more, weaving in and out of parked cars and nearly falling out of sight. Rolling her eyes, Shaw grudgingly goes after her.

"Do you just _like_ annoying people?" Shaw calls after her angrily, catching up. Root, throwing a stunning smile over one shoulder, shrugs.

"I call it living to amuse," she answers, stopping before a lemon yellow Mustang, a metallic cobra emblem coiled just before the front wheel well. Shaw's eyes scan the Shelby Cobra, a deep awe settling in her chest. "What do you think?" Root asks, and Shaw snaps her attention back to the brunette. Shaw, looking into Root's eyes, realizes there's more to this than an innocent opinion on just another car. Pressing her lips together, Shaw crosses her arms.

"Yours?" Shaw counters, not answering. The flicker of a mischievous smirk surfaces on Root's face.

"For the night," she responds cryptically, leaving Shaw to wonder. Yet, before she has time to form her curiosity into words, Root is already yanking open the passenger side door and leaning in. Shaw watches her, eyes in a tennis match between trying to focus on Root's head of hair and the other place her gaze continues to wander.

"Eyes up, Sameen," Root tells from within the car, and Shaw shuts her eyes, teeth grinding as her fists instinctively curl into tight balls. _Shit._ "Come here." Shaw, not truly understanding why, complies to Root's instructions, ducking her head in the cab as she grabs hold of the roof with one hand.

While on the outside it's a car, the inside proves to be an alien space craft instead. Electronic screens and glowing buttons litter the dashboard, gages ready to monitor everything from RPM to fuel injection and more. It almost feels like Christmas, the way the reds, greens, yellows, and blues all collide, casting a stained glass illusion over the seats and tinted windows. It's so foreign from anything Shaw's ever seen, that it feels as if she's stepped into fiction.

After a moment more of staring, Shaw feels the burning sensation of eyes on her skin. Flicking her gaze to the left, she finds Root's eyes lit with excitement and pleasure. "Whadaya think?" She asks, and Shaw can't help but reveal a sliver of a smile.

"Is this a car, or a cockpit?" Shaw responds, winning a deep grin from Root, who slides over in the seat. Beckoning Shaw in with the flick of her head, Shaw slides in after her, instantly wondering why Root hadn't just slipped into the driver's seat. The fit is tight, but Shaw pushes from her mind just how close she is to this mysterious woman, and how her heart begins to drum. "What did you do to it?" Shaw asks, trying to look anywhere but at Root.

"I take people's cars, and I rewire them with electronics so they work more efficiently. They're mostly for those that want to race. They pay me what I ask, and I do this." She gestures to the button field before them, and Shaw gives a slow nod.

"That what you did to the Golf?" Shaw asks her. Root's smile only grows.

"Pretty exciting, huh?" Root replies, leaning into Shaw the slightest bit, a mixture of pride and affection swirling in her brown eyes. _Affection for what?_ Shaw wonders, heart uncontrollably beginning to sputter- it never sputters, not like this. _For me, or for the car?_ Root turns away, and instantly Shaw finds that she can breathe again; can _think_ again. "I've always been pretty good with computers," Root continues, a hush in her voice that travels back to childhood years. "Being an auto-mechanic for hire just pays better than a desk job."

" _Auto-mechanic?_ " Shaw questions, playfully. "That's a little prideful for a techie." At the term, Root shoots her gaze back at Shaw, arching an eyebrow in response. Shaw feels a smile threatening to break on her lips, but forces it to remain in the shadows.

"Do you know any other _'techie_ ' that can do _this_?" Root challenges, and Shaw smirks.

"No," she responds, a hint of humor in her tone. "But I don't know any _other_ techies either. In case you haven't taken a look around here, this isn't really domain of the nerds."

"Make way, racers ready, doors closed!" A man in a security shirt bellows, a stumble in his step as if he may or may not have had one too many to drink. "Make way, racers ready-" he pauses, glassy eyes fixating on Shaw for a moment through the window of Root's open car door. "-Doors. _Closed_."

Shaw barely has enough time to tuck her right leg into the cab before the door is thrown shut; however, she is unable to escape the force of it that smacks painfully into her side, sending her- off balance- into Root. She tries to reach for something to steady herself, yet misses the handle on the door by a hair, and can't find a spot on a dashboard safe to place a hand. She twists her body, left hand connecting with the headrest of the driver's seat, and comes to a jerky stop.

Nose to nose with Root.

An overflow of enjoyment pools in Root's eyes, and Shaw holds her breath, knowing a single exhale could cause absolute obliteration. Shaw's chest burns, heart cracking her ribs with each pump, and so loud Shaw swears Root can hear it. She tries to think, but finds every neuron short circuiting, the proximity to the techie like an electric surge, frying her every inner wire. She gives one, slow blink.

"Well, this is an interesting situation," Root remarks in a low voice, pink blossoming like spring flowers on her cheeks. Root's words settle on Shaw's skin, leaving an electric tingle to run down the back of her neck.

"Really?" Shaw responds in an equally low purr. She's unsure where the words are coming from, but can feel the rumble of her response resonating from deep within her stomach. "I hadn't noticed." Root's eyes narrow playfully as she subconsciously bites her bottom lip, and suddenly the air feels stiflingly warm.

"Racers, line up! Two lines; two lines!" The voices seem distant- worlds away- through the windshield of the Cobra. All around them, engines awaken from there naps, ready to run circles around the night- Root and Shaw remain absolutely still.

"I suppose I could keep you here," Root says with a smirk and a flicker of humor in her otherwise intense eyes. "You know, to save you from another tragic loss." Shaw, to her own disbelief, finds a large grin tugging up the corners of her mouth.

"Oh _yeah?_ " She replies, leaning in impossibly closer. "And I suppose I could be kickin' your ass for saying that."

_______\ Farsi and Furious /________

"Saw you and Root in that car earlier," John comments as Shaw leans against the driver's side door of her Evo. Her arms are folded, eyes narrowed in thought as she watches Root's- temporary- Cobra begin to pull towards the starting line. "I'm surprised the windows weren't steamed." With that, Shaw's focus snaps back to him, and she rolls her eyes.

"Watch it," she spits back dangerously, pointing an accusatory finger his way before yanking open her door and hunkering down. Revving her engine, she slams the door shut, pulling forward. She pulls up to the spray painted line streaking across the ground, watching the woman holding flags ushering her forward; holding a hand out for her to stop. Shaw flashes her eyes to the left, a smirk curling at the edge of her mouth to see the tinted windows of the Shelby Cobra- no, not to see the windows, but to know what's just beyond them.

Bringing her attention to the task at hand, Shaw begins to press her foot down on the gas, hand coiled around her shifter, left foot jammed into the clutch. _She got lucky once,_ Shaw thinks to herself deviously. _But this time? This time she's done for._

The flags drop. Smoke billows up from the back wheels as both women take off, already neck and neck. Shaw pushes, shifts, and pushes further, eyes dashing over to Root every few seconds. Shaw watches her pull ahead by an inch, then two, then a foot; but still, humorous energy rushes through her veins. For, only a few feet ahead, a small, dying flare gives off a small red light, signaling their first turn. Throwing her steering wheel to the right, Shaw's rear skids to the side, throwing up a storm of dust in its wake as she drifts through the ninety degree angle, then surges forward once more. For a minute, Shaw waits with overflowing anticipation to see Root's car racing to catch up behind her, certain the techie had overshot the turn by leaps and bounds.

Surely enough, through the black of night and cloud of dust, red headlights burst through, growing larger. Smoke surges from the sides of the windshield and below the grill, as if a bull expelling furious steam. Root's Cobra closes the gap between them quickly, riding along Shaw once more through the pot holes and cracked asphalt. By the next turn, Root knows exactly what to do. Nearly cutting Shaw off around the corner, Shaw hears the clink of loose gravel along the side of her car and grins. _So that's how it's gonna be, huh?_ Shaw shifts up again and again, playing a dangerous game of tag with the yellow Mustang. One more corner, _piece of cake_ , and they're on the final stretch of run-down road before closing their circle. Shaw, right hand slipping from the shifter and to the dash, hovers her thumb over a green button- self installed for maximum impact.

_Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it-_

_Now._

Slamming the button down, her turbo kicks in, launching her far ahead of Root, the finish line growing larger by the second. She can taste the victory on the tip of her tongue- only to see the yellow front of a wheel well cross the white painted line a millisecond before her. _How the Hell?_ Shaw wonders, watching the Mustang continue its high speed run down the side road.

As irritated as she is by another loss, the feeling does not grip her long. _She's two and 0- damn._

Suddenly, bright flashing lights set the race track ablaze with reds, whites, and blues. Sirens wail as police cars dart from the darkness like hyenas in search of juicy prey. All at once, the barren road becomes the run of the bulls, cars surging in and out of one another to evade arrest. Killing her headlights, Shaw makes a sharp U-turn, heading away from the crowd and towards the uncrowded road. Along her way, she catches sight of racer after racer shoved into handcuffs and the backseats of cop cars. The familiar face of John Reese is one of them, as he leans coolly against his hood, light smirk on his face as he peers warmly at a police woman, dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Shaw had seen her around once or twice. _What's her name, Carmen, Casper- Carter?_

Shaw pushes it from her mind, placing one final glance through her rearview mirror, watching Reese smile at the police woman. With his unrivaled charm, Shaw's sure he'll make it out with no more than a slap on the wrist.

"Freeze!" A man's voice shrieks, magnified a thousand times through a deafening bullhorn. Shaw ignores him, stepping on the gas.

"Stop the car! Now!" He bellows, lights streaking into her car from the back windshield. Shaw knows the voice, and the annoyance of a pesky gnat begins to buzz around her head.

 _Officer Fusco._ A heavyset New York native, the curly-haired man bleeds blue. And for months on end, he'd been tasked with taking out the illegal street racers one by one. Still, he's no match for the faceless, nameless racers that strip their cars of stickers and license plates purely for the occasion.

"Catch me if you can," she hums to herself, hooking a last minute left and speeding into the night's open arms. Shots ring out from behind, her car gives a small lurch, and then there's nothing but Shaw, the predatory growl of her engine, and the open road. Pulling onto a highway, Shaw flicks her lights back on, driving a cool forty-five miles per hour with the rest of the light Thursday traffic.

Cruising along without an ounce of worry over being tailed, Shaw reads the street signs, trying to figure out where she is and how to get home. Checking the clock, she's surprised to see it's already eleven thirty.

Suddenly, her Evo begins to chug.

It chokes, sputters, and shakes, her rearview mirror vibrating as her teeth rattle in her mouth. _No, no, c'mon,_ Shaw hisses to herself, gripping the steering wheel with determination. _Don't do this._ Beneath her, the wheels buckle as her car bucks up and down with the fury of a bull, until she's grudgingly forced to pull onto the shoulder. With a last, heaving sigh, the car wheezes out its final ounce of life.

Swearing under her breath, Shaw slams the heel of her hand into the steering wheel, horn blaring an echo of her frustration. "Now?" Shaw fumes, throwing open her door. A car honks at her aggressively, swerving out of the right lane as she steps into the road. Mouth turned up in a sneer, she doesn't bother to move from the lane; rather, she takes her time, studying her car with a keen eye. Cars swerve around her, causing her hair to whip about in her ponytail, but none of it matters to her. She'd never been one to even blink at what makes others flinch; she'd never been one to do much of anything others did.

Except get angry- she is exceptional at that. And how fury reared its ugly head at the sight of three bullet holes embedded in the driver's side of the body. Crouching before the gray-rimmed holes, Shaw traces her fingers over the spots, growing more enraged by the minute. _What the hell did that over zealous mall cop do this time?_ _How much in damage did he cause?_ Rolling her eyes and puffing out her cheeks, Shaw rounds the car, yanks open the trunk, and hauls out her work issue tool box. Then, opening up the hood, she watches as black smoke billows from the chassis like an impenetrable fog. Waiting for it to clear, Shaw peers in, searching for where the bullets could have lodged themselves. _No light,_ she scolds herself harshly. _Why don't I have a light._

A yellow car streaks by her; she hears the screech of tires on pavement, and the rumble of the engine rolls back towards her. She doesn't look up- barely registers the noise- as she strains her eyes in the dark. She catches a tinted window roll down from the corner of her eye before someone leans out.

"Hi, Honey- need a lift?"

_____\ Person of Interest /_____

"You could always just leave your car here for the night," Root tells her, leaning against the side of Shaw's car as she lazily holds a flashlight, waving it to and fro with each word.

"Why?" Shaw asks snidely, grabbing Root's wrist and repositioning the light. "So the police can pick it up?" Shaw thinks of Officer Fusco seeing the dark purple paint-job, recognizing it, and towing it right back to the precinct, and a bitter smile crawls onto her features. "They'd have a field day searching it for prints."

"So what if they do?" Root responds carelessly, moving the light once again. "The only problem would be if you're already in the system." A silence follows that causes Shaw's ears to burn, and without even looking she knows a smirk has climbed its way onto Root's face. "You're in the system, _aren't_ you?"

"It was a long time ago," Shaw growls, jerking the light back into place as she searches the damage.

"I like a girl with a dangerous past," Root purrs, leaning in towards Shaw with a dangerous flame in her eyes. Shaw, sneer pressed tightly on her lips, glances up at Root with a warning glare. Butterflies begin to flitter in her stomach, but she doesn't let it show, rather, gets back to work with an irritated grumble.

"Hold this," Root comments suddenly, and before Shaw has time to question, the flashlight is in her hand, and Root is clambering under the car. "Hand it back to me," Root instructs, and Shaw does so, leaning in, trying to see what Root could possibly be toying with. Yet, before she has any idea, she hears Root's mellifluous laugh.

"What?" Shaw asks, curious, craning her head under the wheel well to catch a look, yet is only blinded by the flashlight.

"You're what, a mechanic?" Root asks, and irritation begins to set in on Shaw, patience wearing thin.

"Yeah," Shaw remarks hotly. "Why?"

"Of all people, you _didn't_ check the oil pan?" Grinding her teeth, Shaw slides under the Evo, needing to see it for herself. Sure enough, as Root adjusts the light, Shaw watches a short drip, drip, drip of nearly black liquid running down the pan before falling to the ground, and gives herself a mental smack.

"I would have," Shaw shoots back, taking the flashlight and shining it on the ground beneath them. "But you interrupted me." A fine streak of oil stretches from a pool next to Root, expanding in size as Shaw trains the light further back onto the road. She can feel the liquid as it begins to seep into the back of her shirt, and purses her lips.

"There's no easy way to fix this," Root says, thinking aloud. "I might have some oil in my trunk, and we can patch it or something- for a short distance."

"Yeah," Shaw snorts cruelly. "What? A couple miles before it blows again?" She shines the light directly on Root, who shuts her eyes tightly against the light. She must've wiped at her cheek, for a large grease smudge starts at her nose and sits just under her eye. Shaw, in spite of herself, smiles.

Root, squinting her eyes, reaches out her hand, pushing the beam of light away from her eyes, and the coldness of Root's fingers on her skin leaves a tingle running down Shaw's spine. "I don't live far," Root tells her, training her brown eyes intently on Shaw. Only then does Shaw realize just how close they are to one another- shoulder to shoulder, hand on hand.

"And what could I _possibly_ get done there?" Shaw asks, voice a little more uncertain than she'd have liked.

"I have a garage," Root answers. "And we could see if any stores are open to pick up a-"

"Why should I even _accept_ from a _techie_?" Shaw interjects, play in her eyes and the ghost of a smirk on her lips. Root stops, raising an eyebrow in a way that Shaw, surprised, finds endearing.

"If _I_ were you, I wouldn't bite the hand that's giving you work space," Root responds coolly. "Besides, _this_ could take _all_ night." Shaw's eyes do an involuntary swipe over Root at that, and Root's cheeks flush a light shade of pink, eyes gleaming.

Barely able to keep a smile at bay, Shaw rolls her tongue across her teeth in thought, only to settle on the reply, "Let’s go."


End file.
